A Time in London
by LostPipersChild
Summary: A small one-shot to accompany Lost Year, in which Clara and Dusk share an evening and bitter-sweet feelings together. OC/Saturday's Dusk. WARNING! Explicit Sexual content, takes place about a year after the Epilogue of Lost Year.


**Clara/Dusk, simply because I couldn't leave it alone. **

London was being buried in a rare blanket of snow. It flurried past the windows of an expensive hotel perched on the waters of the Themes, overlooking Tower Bridge, all aglow in the darkness. The door of the luxurious room opened and Clara Jenkins stepped inside, yawing and smiling sleepily as she did so. The conference had gone well, and the formal dinner even better. With any luck her department would raise enough money from that evening to fund the next season of digs.

She closed the door and stretched with another jaw-breaking yawn. In the three years since her return from the House her career had advanced surprisingly, even she had been taken aback when her boss invited her to attend the conference, and stay at the hotel free of charge.

On her way to the shower she shed her best dress and kicked off her heels. It had been a long day and she needed to unwind before work tomorrow. As she stood under the steamy jet of water she hummed tunelessly to herself and her thoughts turned, annoyingly, to Saturday's Dusk. She tried not to think about him too often as it only brought tears to her eyes and a pain to her chest.

She still remembered their last meeting with a bitter sharpness, like a tart apple.

"_I may not be able to come back here anymore." Dusk said, a look of great pain in his eyes._

_He and Clara were walking along the waterfront during her lunch-break, both wrapped up warm against the January bite, dead leaves skittering past their feet. At Dusk's words Clara paused and turned to frown up at him._

"_What do you mean?" she asked cautiously, though she thought she knew exactly what he meant. _

_Dusk sighed and averted his eyes from hers, choosing instead to lean against the railing and gaze out over the river. _

"_She knows." he said darkly._

_There was no need for him to say who exactly. Clara hesitated before joining him at the railing and clasping her gloved hands together. _

"_So…that's it?" she said quietly. "After everything, she knows and that means you can't come back?"_

_Dusk hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. _

"_This past month, it's been…wonderful. So peaceful. But she's my mistress Clara. I was created to obey her, it is the magic of the House. It is so difficult to defy her orders."_

_Clara made a strange grunting noise in her throat and dropped her eyes to her interlocked fingers. Dusk looked wretched._

"_I will try." he vowed. "I will come and see you as soon as I can."_

But he never did.

And though it pained Clara to think about him she couldn't help it when, for example, she was unable to sleep at night, or when she was in the shower and had a lot of time to herself.

Though Dusk had been an insufferable gentleman for the entire month they were courting and had never even touched her (except on Christmas Eve when she had succeeding in getting him drunk enough to forget his manners and kiss her on the doorstep of her flat), she could always imagine.

Perhaps she had sensed this coming for days, with some remnant magic still residing in her bones. It seemed far too great a coincidence otherwise.

Clara stepped out of the bathroom and pulled up short with a sharp intake of breath. Saturday's Dusk sat in the chair beside her bed, thumbing through her battered copy of Pride and Prejudice with a slight frown creasing his forehead. He glanced her way at her gasp, dark eyes drinking her in beneath gorgeous eyelashes.

"How-what are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly, horribly, delightedly, aware that she was wearing nothing but a snowy white towel.

"I had a gap in my schedule, my mistress was occupied at the courts so I slipped away." Dusk said levelly, his eyes dragging down the length of her body with ill-disguised longing. Clara swallowed and said feebly,

"Dusk, it's been nearly a year, and not a word."

"I know. I am so sorry, I shouldn't really be here, but you were always my weakness Clara." he said softly and she shivered involuntarily at the gentle way he spoke her name, his tongue lightly touching his teeth on every consonant. How could someone make speaking so erotic?!

He unfolded himself gracefully from the chair and crossed towards her, totally aware of how she watched the way his beautiful body moved.

"Dusk, are, are you sure?" she asked nervously.

Dusk didn't answer, he was already standing so close to her that their chests touched with every deep breath she took. He lifted his hands carefully and cupped Clara's face between then, tilting her head back so he could mould his lips to hers. Clara considered, for about half a second, pushing him away and shouting at him for his boldness, for leaving without saying a proper goodbye, for never truly explaining why he never came back, but she couldn't bring herself to. Instead she relaxed and let go of her hurt.

They sighed in unison as their tongues met, like old acquaintances they danced about each other before settling into an easy embrace. There wasn't enough room in Clara's mind for doubt, she simply did. With shaking hands she moved to undo the towel about her chest and let it drop to the ground at her feet. Dusk paused in his kissing for a moment to evaluate the body before him with an appreciative sigh.

"There it is at last." he murmured to himself, his hands gliding down and his thumbs dragging over her nipples.

His touch set off a tingly sensation all over Clara's skin and she shivered slightly.

"I missed you." she said quietly.

Before he could answer she threw her arms around him and kissed him with all of her supressed passion. He grunted and held her tightly, kissing her like a parched man drank iced water. They stumbled backward towards the bed where she pushed him down and draped herself over him, all the while never allowing her lips to stray far from his.

Clara made short work of his clothes, allowing him to sit up with her still straddling his lap so he could shrug off his waistcoat and shirt. She could feel his hard-on pressed against her inner thigh and she rubbed herself against it. That banished the last of Dusk's ridiculous Victorian reserve. With startling ferocity he took hold of her hips and reversed their positions until he was pressing her down into the mattress and trailing his lips down her neck and chest.

He paused over her thumping heart and tapped his finger in time to its beat.

"I never knew mortals were this warm." he said with a kind of detached interest.

Clara didn't answer, she simply arched her spine and rubbed her hips against his again. Dusk's trousers were gone soon after that. However even as Clara pulled him closer with her thighs, the small voice of doubt, of fear, piped up in her mind. She hadn't done this since leaving the House and her last partner had been Thursday. The memory of his calloused, rough hands grabbing and snatching, taking her by frightening force, still haunted her nightmares. What if she couldn't do this anymore? What if her experiences had ruined sex altogether?

But then Dusk was gentling his touch and sliding into her slowly, and all her anxious knots melted away. She sucked in a breath and gave a small whimper of pleasure. Dusk was actually trembling as he ground against her, his forehead pressed on hers.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this for." he exhaled.

"Since we got drunk at Christmas I should imagine." Clara laughed, twining their legs together, craving a closer contact.

"Oh no, long before that. Ever since I first took your pulse at the university, you remember? The day I asked you to dinner."

Clara remembered, she remembered that sweet moment of intimacy as though it were yesterday, as supposed to close on two years ago.

"I knew what I felt was wrong, you were mortal, I was denizen, it wasn't right." Dusk continued in a strained voice. "But I couldn't keep away from you, I couldn't stop myself feeling this way even when I tried to convince myself it was just a passing fancy. You consumed me."

She was going to make some clever remark about this but Dusk had started to speed up and all thought of conversation fled their minds. There was a feeling of desperation in Clara as she dug her fingers into Dusk's back, sucked at his neck, gasped his name. She reached for that blissful sense of release and she found it.

She moaned in ecstasy as her orgasm washed over her, shooting her spine and sending her into spasms. Dusk felt it and held her even tighter with one hand, whilst digging the other into the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

"Clara, oh, Architect!" he gasped, before letting out a cry and releasing inside her.

Afterwards they held each other close until their hearts stopped thudding and they could talk again. They talked of the House, of mutual friends, of Clara's career, of anything but what they were both really thinking. This would not happened again. Dusk was taking an enormous risk to spend even that one night with Clara, if Saturday found out how he had defied her then he would be as good as dead. In all likelihood, they would never see each other again. Clara cursed midnight when it came.


End file.
